Oil Vey: What to Do about Hanukkah This Year?

In normal years, I have a favorite Hanukkah tradition. I invite over a bunch of friends, light menorahs with them, put cast-iron pans on all four of my stove’s burners and fry more latkes than anyone can possibly eat. Sometimes, I combine this celebration with a Shabbat dinner if it’s Fry-day. Because I go through enough layers of oil to supply a few temples — and re-season the cast iron — I call it “Spa Night for Cast-Iron Pans.”

This Hanukkah, I might make myself a few latkes, but there will be no such spa night. Even my cookware is affected by a pan-demic.

Avoiding gathering is the responsible choice, and one I hope we’re all making. However, convincing people to do the right thing and have a lockdown-ready Hanukkah to prevent anyone from transmitting the coronavirus might require some catchy, schmaltzy branding.

Let’s call it a Latke-down. But it’s not like the only culinary way to mark the holiday involves frying a lot of shredded potatoes, as comment-taters agree. For those inclined toward jelly-filled sufganiyot: Do-nut spread it. If bimuelos are your tradition: Avoid a sticky situation. Cheese pancakes? They’re a spud-alternative that’s fun for dairy lovers to make — even if you don’t lack-taters. But for COVID-19 safety, this still isn’t a Gruyère-area, so: Avoid getting a queso the virus.

Sure, I feel wistful about yet another holiday without company. I miss filling my home with friends. I’d love the warmth of a house smelling like oily potatoes and onions — though it turns out that’s less charming by the time the scent has lingered for eight days. Holidays this year are particularly challenging for the millions of us who live alone, especially when most public health messaging encourages us to celebrate with our “household” — as though everyone has one. My houseplants aren’t fans of latkes, it turns out.

Still, staying home solo is a choice I’m glad to make. I’ve always appreciated how Judaism values health and saving lives above all. Especially as coronavirus case numbers rise and break records, I’d rather light candles alone, since it’s kind of wick-ed to risk lives for a Hanukkah party. That includes the lives of anyone that guests interact with later. Having people over is a gamble for fools: a shel [Hanukkah] game. Just the thought of taking that chance makes me say oil vey.

Having people over is a gamble for fools: a shel [Hanukkah] game.

I know lot of us are burning out faster than the cheapest Hanukkah candles left over from last year — minus the few you used in a pinch on a birthday cake back in January. And we’re burning out right when we need to be more cautious than ever. If you, like I do, cope with life’s challenges through terrible puns — managing a pandemic with a pundemic — you may be thinking by now, “I can’t candle it any longer! I’m filled with a sense of dreid-al the time. I can’t take the constant political spin.” You’re tired of living in the present, and you’d rather we give the virus a wrap.

Maybe you’re even ready to give in and let your kids get a pet kangaroo for Hanukkah. But mostly because you want to name it Anthony Pouchy.

Close that browser tab for Marsupial Marketplace. I’m here for you. If you need a few ideas to manage Hanukkah 2020, I candelaborate further:

1. 1. Rewrite the Hanukkah Story

While we’re re-writing the story of how we celebrate the holiday, why not update the actual Hanukkah story to something that resonates in 2020? Whether you live with kids, have nieces or nephews you’re in charge of confusing or have friends with kids you can video-chat with, maybe it’s time to tell them a tale with a few creative liberties and a healthy dose of wishful thinking:

Once upon a time, nearly two centuries BCE (“Before COVID-19 Existed”), King Anti-Lockus decreed that all residents must worship certain gods and goddesses, including Artemisinformation. Anyone caught following other traditional rituals — such as anointing hands for 20 seconds with warm, soapy water –– would be subjected to the stormiest of tweets.

However, a scrappy band of fighters called the Maskabees stood up for their right to practice their own culture and follow basic public health directives. After a fierce battle, the Maskabees prevailed — although King Anti-Lockus spent many weeks insisting they didn’t. He tried to hold onto control— raging like a schmucky potato, a.k.a. acting like a dick-tater.

 As news of the win spread, people wanted to rip off their masks immediately, hop the next flight to the temple, then celebrate with indoor dining and casual dating. However, the Maskabee leaders reminded everyone that festivities had to wait until Fryzer prepared a vaccine and enough of the population was immunized.

 Maskabee leaders were worried. They knew the people had only enough patience to last one night.  

 But a miracle happened. The people’s patience lasted for eight nights (which some scholars interpret as “weeks” or “months”) until the vaccine was widely available. This was attributable partly to the fact that they had a bunch of oil sitting around, and they distracted themselves by using it to fry everything in sight. 

1. 2. Fry Everything In Sight

Frying: It’s not just for latkes, fritters and donuts anymore. Fry everything. Every single thing.

Fry your feelings. Fry the news. Breakfast cereal? Fryer. Salad? Oil isn’t just for dressing, baby. Beans you bought back in March? Forget refried; on Hanukkah, go for re-refried. Fry them as many times as you want. By the eighth night, they should be re-re-re-re-re-re-re-refried.

It’s the Festival of Lights. It’s the Festival of Oil. It’s not the festival of “Go light on the oil.”

Incidentally, this is what we public health types call “harm reduction.” It may not be the healthiest solution, but if it’ll keep us home, it’s worth the trade-off. And it’s a nice antidote to feeling fried.

1. 3. Awkward Zoom Dreidel

I’ll probably end up assembling friends and family virtually to light our candles together over Zoom. Maybe we’ll each make latkes and eat them while chatting. But why miss out on the chance to make an already awkward platform even more so by playing a game that falters even when you play in person?

The best part: you get to make up the rules. Does gimel mean you get to eat that bag of gelt you bought at the last minute and were starting to eat anyway? Does shin mean your friend has to tell their conspiracy-theorist uncle to wear a mask? Do you choose the letter that lands face up or the one that’s showing when their screen freezes? You decide!

Hey, I know nun of the possible variations will make dreidel fun. What, you wanted another miracle?

Much like the Maskabees or anyone playing dreidel, we hope this will end soon –– though we don’t know precisely when or how it will play out. We’re getting a better idea, though. Plus, we have some collective control over the situation. We can encourage each other to maintain our altruism, be cautious and get vaccinated when it’s an option — even though we’re stretched thinner than the flimsy mask your uncle wears under his nose.

Hopefully, 2021 will bring more coordinated national efforts and funding. But right now, in this candle-filled season, coronavirus cases may wax (and wane). As we’re waiting for January and Biden our time, the goal is to have patience — not patients.

And Hanukkah? It’ll be fine, even though I won’t get to make a lot of latkes. I’m happy to wait it out. I know my friends will understand, and that next year we’ll be grate-ful.

But how am I going to tell my cast iron pans? Oil vey, I feel gelt-y just thinking about it.

Deborah (Debs) Gardner is a public health professional, writer and semi-snarky Jew living in Seattle, WA. Our “pundemic correspondent,” she is a multi-time winner of Pundamonium Seattle, a local pun slam.